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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26336383">hard candy dripping on me til my feet are wet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/theyarenotfree/pseuds/theyarenotfree'>theyarenotfree</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon Compliant, Coming In Pants, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Fruit, M/M, Pack Feels, Pining, Smut, i can't believe fruit is a tag, this fic is ridiculous</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:20:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,315</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26336383</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/theyarenotfree/pseuds/theyarenotfree</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It was never something Stiles expected he’d ever see in his lifetime—Derek Hale, sitting with his legs crossed on the rug in his newly renovated living room, forking cubes of watermelon into his mouth.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>513</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>hard candy dripping on me til my feet are wet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>umM this wasn't supposed to have any smut in it??? idk what happened?? i was gonna write a nice fic about derek hale eating fruit. there literally wasn't gonna be smut until i suddenly started writing smut and then i was like 'what did i just do' and ended it asap.<br/>it's the middle of the night and i wrote this all in one sitting, pls excuse any mistakes.</p><p>title from kiwi by harry styles (bc fruit. heh heh)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stiles can’t really complain, okay. He’s got approximately zero complaints. Any day when he isn’t being chased and murdered by some supernatural creature is a good day.</p><p>It’s definitely not a bad thing that the pack has settled—gotten closer and stronger. It just means less monsters coming in, less instability for them to be drawn to. It means more pack bonding nights and a few more people around that Stiles would consider friends and more moments where they can just sit down and act like normal teenagers for the first time in what feels like forever.</p><p>So, no complaints from Stiles. Nope, nada, zilch. </p><p>It’s just. If there was one thing, one gripe he might have about this new calm that has overtaken Beacon Hills. Which isn’t even fair because things are going <em>well</em>, and the pack is <em>happy</em>, and nobody is in any constant mortal danger anymore. But if there was one thing. One tiny thing. Stiles just wishes Derek Hale would stop eating so much fucking fruit around him.</p><p>It sounds ridiculous. Absolutely ludacris. Stiles knows. He is <em>aware</em>. But Derek not being clawed apart or paralyzed or kidnapped means that he has more free time to do normal stuff. Like go to the farmer’s market. Or the grocery story. And buy excessive amounts of fruit.</p><p>Derek must have a thing with fruit. When Stiles really thinks about it, he never saw Derek eat before. It was only after everything got a little more stable that he realized that Derek does in fact need sustenance, and the sustenance he chooses is piles and piles of <em>fruit</em>. Like, what the fuck. It’s obscene. It’s almost pornographic. And it’s just. It was never something Stiles expected he’d ever see in his lifetime—Derek Hale, sitting with his legs crossed on the rug in his newly renovated living room, forking cubes of watermelon into his mouth.</p><p>Stiles would like a refund. On this day, on his entire life, literally anything. He’d like to go back to a time when he didn’t know what it was like to see Derek’s tongue poke out to pillow each juicy piece, to see the way his cheeks bulge as he chews and his eyes flutter at the taste because Derek loves fruit <em>that</em> much.</p><p>Stiles slides down a little further into the couch and ignores the weird look Scott is giving him from across the room. If he stares hard enough at the TV then Stiles almost doesn’t notice Derek’s little expressions of pleasure.</p><p>It's becoming a problem. It’s not a problem yet, but it’s becoming one.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>The following week, Stiles drops by the pack house after school to return some books on werewolf lore that he’d borrowed. He lets himself in and Erica waves a lazy greeting from her sprawl in the cushiest armchair. She’s three seasons deep in Keeping Up with the Kardashians so Stiles makes a hasty retreat to the kitchen.</p><p>He dumps the books on the counter and steals a Coke from the fridge, watching out the window over the sink as Derek and Isaac spar in the backyard. They’ve both managed to lose their shirts and are gleaming with sweat in the afternoon sun.</p><p>Derek feigns left, does a cocky spin and goes for the offense. Isaac is good at dodging, but he’s too hesitant to strike, too worried about hurting his Alpha. It leaves them in a sort of stalemate—both tired and worn just from chasing each other in circles.</p><p>They come back inside with bright eyes, happy from the exercise or the bonding or whatever other wolfy thing is going on there. Isaac flashes his fangs playfully at Stiles and skips away without a word. Stiles suspects he’s secretly jumped on the Kardashian bandwagon.</p><p>Derek squeezes past Stiles, sweaty chest and all, to fill a glass with water. He drinks it in one long pull and Stiles’ throat bobs with his. Stiles doesn’t stare. He really doesn’t. That’s the only reason he notices Boyd peeking his head in. They make eye contact and give each other cool bro head nods.</p><p>“Can I borrow the car?” Boyd asks, eyes on Derek now.</p><p>Derek wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and—oh <em>fuck</em>, no—grabs an apple from the bowl on the counter.</p><p>“As long as you pick up more eggs before you get home. We ran out this morning.”</p><p>“And get some S’mores PopTarts,” Stiles adds helpfully. Boyd grants him an incredibly expressive eye roll before he leaves.</p><p>“You don’t even live here,” Isaac calls from somewhere near the living room. He’s totally watching the Kardashians. Derek bites into the green skin of the apple and the crunch of it has Stiles’ skin breaking into a shiver.</p><p>“You’re done already?” Derek gestures to the pile of books with his half-eaten apple, “You can check out the shelves in the office, see if there’s more you’re interested in. Peter just came back from visiting a pack out East and they gave him boxes and boxes of old books.”</p><p>He bites the apple again and juice dribbles down, falls and beads on his bare chest, slipping down the skin, leaving a short trail behind. Derek wipes at it blindly and it smears. Stiles thinks it probably tastes tart and fresh and syrupy.</p><p>“Thanks,” he calls, already halfway out the room. He sounds a little choked and he left his unfinished can of Coke in there, but dignity is a thing he has and would like to preserve, thank you very much.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>On one of the last warm days of the year, Erica insists on having a picnic out in the preserve. She drags everyone along, and they rowdily traipse through the trees together, scaring off any woodland creature in a ten-mile radius.</p><p>Stiles trips a few times, which is probably why the wolves insisted he hold one of the picnic blankets and not one of the precious baskets of food. Jackson sneers a little at the grassy clearing they come to, but it’s all for show. The place is beautiful.</p><p>The late summer light is a warm caress and cicadas screech like the swell of an orchestra song around them. Scott picks a wildflower and tucks it behind Allison’s ear. She giggles and a bunny across the clearing finally takes notice of the cluster of literal predators approaching and races off into the cover of the trees.</p><p>It feels good, feels like the best idea anyone has had in a while.</p><p>Lydia packed sushi, because of course she did. And Derek packed a huge carton of red cherries, because <em>of course he did</em>. Stiles isn’t surprised. He’ll just stick with his sandwich and stay as far away from that boatload of potential embarrassment as he can.</p><p>The sun slants as the afternoon passes. Stiles collapses on his back and points out cloud shapes with Allison. Her hair is fanned out around her head and it tickles his ear when a breeze passes through. The trees cut off visibility, but Stiles swears he sees a cloud shaped like a wolf, he <em>swears</em>.</p><p>Erica and Scott are on the next blanket over, trying to see who can spit their cherry pit the farthest. Isaac plays referee and they all laugh uproariously every time he almost gets pelted with one.</p><p>Derek is watching their game silently, spread out on his own blanket. Stiles always thought there was no way to make spitting out a cherry pit look sexy, but Derek somehow accomplishes it. He just turns off to the side and purses his lips and blows the pit off towards a small pile he’s been forming in the grass. It makes Stiles’ heart speed into overtime, beating somewhere up in his throat.</p><p>Derek turns to look at him as if he heard the sound. His mouth is moving around another cherry, ripping the meat of it off. He meets Stiles’ eye and just watches, chewing. The clearing almost seems to go quiet around them, even though Stiles knows it really doesn’t. He can hear Jackson critiquing Scott, and Lydia offering Boyd a California roll, and Allison describing a cloud shaped like a dragon. It’s all drowned out into nothing, though, just a dull roar as he watches Derek glow gold in the sun.</p><p>Derek pauses, falling into such stillness that Stiles wonders if he’s okay for a second. Then, he lifts his chin to the side and spits the pit out, right into his little pile, holding the eye contact the entire time. Stiles’ lips part open at the sight of it. He turns away too fast to be nonchalant, eyes drawn desperately back to the clouds. All he can see in the sky now is what looks like a fucking fruit basket. Of freaking course.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>The pack trains regularly. In their own weird, wolf ways. It mostly involves a lot of wrestling and eye flashing in the yard while Stiles and Lydia do their homework on the back porch. Allison likes to shoot at targets deeper in the trees.</p><p>Some days, if Peter is around, Stiles annoys him into discussing some werewolf tradition or a book he borrowed recently. It’s creepy, because Peter is always giving off creepy vibes, but Stiles is like a sponge with information on the supernatural.</p><p>Stiles gets ditched by both Lydia <em>and</em> Peter today, which means he’s not distracted enough to avoid watching Derek’s body ripple fluidly as he trains his Betas. They all look like one cohesive unit sometimes—slipping around each other like they can read everyone’s next move.</p><p>Derek pulls back for a break after a while, not quite panting but breathing louder than normal. He’s in a white tank top that Stiles suspects will be gone within the hour. The pack continues without him, slipping into the space he left without missing a beat.</p><p>Derek climbs the porch, smirking at Stiles as he steps into the house for a brief moment, just long enough to grab a few clementines from wherever he magically procures fruit from these days. He settles into the chair next to Stiles and they watch the pack together in silence.</p><p>Derek’s fingers move in a steady rhythm, clawless and skilled. He pulls the peel off the fruit in one long, endless strip. It separates into a curly strand of orange skin and when the wind shifts, the smell hits Stiles so hard it feels like the first breath he’s taken today. Derek drops the peel right on top of Stiles’ math homework and pries the clementine in half.</p><p>Stiles thinks he will always be impressed with the control Derek has over his own body, the way he can move himself however he wants to move. Stiles is clumsy—always knocking into things and stumbling around and hating his limbs for the way they just don’t ask his brain for permission. Derek, though. Derek is deliberate and concise and efficient. There’s no energy wasted on meaningless movement. When he takes up space, he knows exactly what he wants to do with it.</p><p>The Betas untangle themselves for a snack break, most likely inspired by their Alpha. They pound up the porch like a stampede, pushing and shoving with excess energy. They pass where Stiles is seated and in a quick flash, Erica fluffs Jackson’s hair, which makes Jackson shove at Isaac. Isaac trips a little, still growing into his legs, and an arm flails out to cuff Stiles on the chin.  </p><p>There’s a low growl from Derek and then a flurry of apology that happens too fast for Stiles to even process. His chin stings, but hardly worse than a light smack. Fingers find his jaw and turn his head.</p><p>It’s Derek, and he’s frowning too close to Stiles’ face. There’s no real pain for him to take, but it looks like he’s trying anyways.</p><p>“You okay?” he asks, quiet.</p><p>“Yeah,” Stiles says, inhaling deep. The fingers on his jaw smell sharp like citrus.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Stiles and Boyd start binging all the Harry Potter movies early one Sunday and Stiles dozes off sometime during the Chamber of Secrets. When he wakes up, Boyd is gone, and Derek has found a place on the floor. He’s staring up at Prisoner of Azkaban with rapt attention. There’s a bowl of raspberries in his lap.</p><p>Almost mindlessly, Derek presses raspberries on each of his fingertips until his whole hand is full. He flexes his red-tipped fingers, slashing at the air like they’re claws. Then, one by one, he slips a fingertip into his mouth and sucks the fruit right off.</p><p>Stiles bites back an inhuman scream at how unfair his life is. This is almost as bad as the week before, when he had to watch Derek eat a banana.</p><p>Trying to dispel some of his frustration, Stiles stretches himself on the couch, groaning at the pull of muscle. Derek stiffens a little, eyes still on the TV. Stiles rolls more onto his side and sighs against the blanket that’s been spread over him sometime between him falling asleep and now.</p><p>The next few raspberries Derek eats, he eats them normally, as if he’s embarrassed to let Stiles see him making fruit claws or something. Stiles huffs.</p><p>“You gonna share?” he reaches a hand out towards the bowl, voice still deep with sleep.</p><p>Derek gives him a longsuffering glance over his shoulder, then turns more to offer the bowl. Holding back his smile as much as he can, Stiles sticks a raspberry on each of his fingertips and wiggles them in a wave at Derek’s suddenly horrified face. His ears are blushing pink. He turns back to the movie like he’s planning on pretending like he has no idea what Stiles is doing and wants no part of his shit-eating grin.</p><p>“I already know you’re a dork,” Stiles slurps the raspberry off his pinky finger, “You don’t have to pretend otherwise.”</p><p>Derek doesn’t respond, but he sticks the next raspberry right on his thumb.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Stiles really should’ve expected that he’d lose it one day. There’s really only so much of this torture that a human being can take.</p><p>The pack is at the house, setting up for Derek’s surprise birthday party, which means Stiles is in charge of occupying him elsewhere while Derek pretends not to know what’s going on. Stiles may or may not have bribed him with peaches.</p><p>They’re camped out on Stiles’ bedroom floor. Stiles is playing Solitaire with an old deck of cards while Derek munches on his peaches and idly points out moves that Stiles doesn’t see. Stiles tries really hard not to look at him too much, and he also tries not to think about the box of expensive chocolate covered strawberries he got Derek as a gift. Stiles definitely doesn’t think about how he wants to feed him the strawberries—holding them still so Derek can take lazy bites, neck stretching for better reach, nibbling gently until his lips meet the pads of Stiles’ fingertips.</p><p>It’s a battle in self-control. A battle that Stiles fears he is slowly losing. There’s a slurping sound and Derek hums low, head turning to catch some juice that’s run down his wrist. Stiles is helpless to look, he feels his entire body shift and re-center, like Derek is pulling him into his own gravity.</p><p>Derek’s tongue laps at his hand around the peach, mouth wet and open. The stubble on his cheek shines with juice. He bites again and the soft flesh of the fruit gives a little, sliced clean through by Derek’s white teeth.</p><p>“Are you kidding me?” Stiles asks, sounding kind of hysterical. Derek jumps, looking surprised to find that Stiles is watching him. There’s a long beat of quiet.</p><p>Derek frowns, confused, “What?”</p><p>“You’re doing this on purpose!” Stiles accuses, thrashing on the floor so hard he completely ruins his game of Solitaire. Derek doesn’t look any less confused. The hand holding the peach lowers, but his lips are still shiny and wet.</p><p>“Doing what?”</p><p>“You—you’re,” Stiles looks between Derek’s eyes and his lips, his lips and the peach still in his hand, “Making me want to kiss you!”</p><p>There’s only a second for Derek’s eyes to go wide in shock before Stiles throws himself into his lap and presses their mouths together.</p><p>Derek absolutely melts at the touch, lips falling into motion against Stiles like he wants to devour him. Stiles licks into the heat of Derek’s mouth, tastes fruit and warm. He leans closer, pushes harder into Derek’s body until he can feel their chests expanding against each other with each breath.</p><p>Stiles’ face feels sticky and he lets his mouth trail, lapping at the peach juice smeared against Derek’s chin and cheek. The stubble is rough on his tongue, but Stiles thinks he will never forget the taste. He licks a long strip, right over the seam of Derek’s lips.</p><p>Derek <em>whines</em>. His arms circle Stiles like he wants to drag him even closer. He must forget about the unfinished peach still in his hand because when Stiles grinds his hips down the slightest bit, Derek’s hand <em>squeezes</em> and Stiles feels mashed fruit and juice run down the back of his neck, trailing along the line of his spine.</p><p>Derek makes a noise that’s more animal than human. He flips Stiles, moves his body like he weighs nothing and maneuvers him until he’s pressed face-down against the carpet. Derek plasters his body against Stiles’ back and sucks hard at the nape of his neck.</p><p>Stiles bucks at the feeling, grinding his hips down against the floor under him until he registers a hard length pressed right against his ass that has him grinding up the other way. Derek moans and mouths more frantically at Stile’s neck, nose pressed tight at the beginning of his hairline.</p><p>Stiles feels Derek’s hand fumble, inching between Stiles’ body and the floor until he can cup a warm palm right against the bulge of Stiles’ dick.</p><p>“Derek,” Stiles says, breathless and impatient and shocked all at once. Derek makes a noise deep in his chest and thrusts his own hard dick down against Stiles at the same time that he grinds his hand up. His mouth is a hot burn on Stiles’ nape.</p><p>Derek’s hand rubs steadily while Stiles’ hips twitch in a way that’s out of his control. Derek pins him down tighter, uses the weight of his own hips to add pressure.</p><p>“<em>Gnnh</em>,” Stiles moans intelligibly, hands flailing to grab at anything. Derek’s hand—the one not on Stiles’ dick—finds his and intertwines their fingers in a sticky tangle. Their bodies move together, and Stiles feels his toes curl, already so close to the edge that his limbs tremble.</p><p>Derek whines like he knows this, and his mouth opens wider on Stiles’ neck so he can press blunt, human teeth against the skin and nip, until it stings. Stiles’ hips stutter and buck against Derek’s hand, coming so hard his vision goes white on the edges.</p><p>Derek makes a sound like a sob and grinds his hips down in one final, shaky thrust. Stiles swears he feels Derek’s dick twitch from where it’s nestled tight against Stiles’ ass. Derek pants into Stiles’ ear for a long minute before he manages to roll himself off. Stiles’ back feels cold at the loss, but Derek still has hold of his hand, so he peels his face up from the carpet.</p><p>Derek looks wrecked—sweaty and flushed and shiny with peach juice. Stiles is sure he doesn’t look much better himself.</p><p>“What the fuck, Stiles,” Derek groans, still catching his breath. He can’t seem to make himself sound as grumpy as he usually does. Stiles just laughs, a chuckle at first, and then loud and cackling and obnoxious enough that Derek has to shut him up by kissing him again.</p><p> </p>
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